The brothers brought the parents’ blessing and godspeed to Joan,
and their promise to bring it to her in person later; and so, with this
culminating happiness in her heart and the high hope it inspired,
she went and confronted the governor again. But he was no more
tractable than he had been before. He refused to send her to the
King. She was disappointed, but in no degree discouraged. She
said:
“I must still come to you until I get the men-at-arms; for so it is
commanded, and I may not disobey. I must go to the Dauphin,
though I go on my knees.”
I and the two brothers were with Joan daily, to see the people that
came and hear what they said; and one day, sure enough, the Sieur
Jean de Metz came. He talked with her in a petting and playful
way, as one talks with children, and said:
“What are you doing here, my little maid? Will they drive the King
out of France, and shall we all turn English?”
She answered him in her tranquil, serious way:
“I am come to bid Robert de Baudricourt take or send me to the
King, but he does not heed my words.”
“Ah, you have an admirable persistence, truly; a whole year has
not turned you from your wish. I saw you when you came before.”
Joan said, as tranquilly as before:
“It is not a wish, it is a purpose. He will grant it. I can wait.”
“Ah, perhaps it will not be wise to make too sure of that, my child.
These governors are stubborn people to deal with. In case he shall
not grant your prayer–”
“He will grant it. He must. It is not a matter of choice.”
The gentleman’s playful mood began to disappear–one could see
that, by his face. Joan’s earnestness was affecting him. It always
happened that people who began in jest with her ended by being in
earnest. They soon began to perceive depths in her that they had
not suspected; and then her manifest sincerity and the rocklike
steadfastness of her convictions were forces which cowed levity,
and it could not maintain its self-respect in their presence. The
Sieur de Metz was thoughtful for a moment or two, then he began,
quite soberly:
“Is it necessary that you go to the King soon?–that is, I mean–”
“Before Mid-Lent, even though I wear away my legs to the knees!”
She said it with that sort of repressed fieriness that means so much
when a person’s heart is in a thing. You could see the response in
that nobleman’s face; you could see his eye light up; there was
sympathy there. He said, most earnestly:
“God knows I think you should have the men-at-arms, and that
somewhat would come of it. What is it that you would do? What is
your hope and purpose?”
“To rescue France. And it is appointed that I shall do it. For no one
else in the world, neither kings, nor dukes, no any other, can
recover the kingdom of France, and there is no help but in me.”
The words had a pleading and pathetic sound, and they touched
that good nobleman. I saw it plainly. Joan dropped her voice a
little, and said: “But indeed I would rather spin with my poor
mother, for this is not my calling; but I must go and do it, for it is
my Lord’s will.”
“Who is your Lord?”
“He is God.”
Then the Sieur de Metz, following the impressive old feudal
fashion, knelt and laid his hands within Joan’s in sign of fealty, and
made oath that by God’s help he himself would take her to the
king.
The next day came the Sieur Bertrand de Poulengy, and he also
pledged his oath and knightly honor to abide with her and follower
witherosever she might lead.
This day, too, toward evening, a great rumor went flying abroad
through the town–namely, that the very governor himself was
going to visit the young girl in her humble lodgings. So in the
morning the streets and lanes were packed with people waiting to
see if this strange thing would indeed happen. And happen it did.